


I'm what you want

by Level_Nightmare



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Prolapse, Crossdressing, Dildos, Enemas, Explicit Language, F/M, Femdom, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Mental Instability, Object Insertion, Other, Vibrators, grotesque situation, self humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22319977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Level_Nightmare/pseuds/Level_Nightmare
Summary: In the quiet calm of his bunker, Higgs is suffering from his condition of being divided between the Demens and Sam, from having lost Fragile and not being able in any way to recover his relationship with her and being obsessed with Amelie's radiant power. Sam loves Amelie so much and he loves her, so why not become like her? Why not become HER? So he chooses to follow his instincts, to humiliate himself, to feel disgusting and bad to finally feel alive. Higgs loves to feel ridiculous and grotesque in his obsession with Sam and all he cannot possess, so he humiliates himself by not being able to humiliate others as he would like.
Relationships: Fragile/Higgs Monaghan, Higgs Monaghan/Amelie Strand, Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan
Kudos: 21





	I'm what you want

**Author's Note:**

> Dear reader, I apologize in advance for the inevitable mistakes that you will find in this story: unfortunately English is not my first language and I helped myself with an online translator. If you decide that what I write can intrigue you, have fun or interest you keep reading, I hope you will have fun reading as I had fun, intrigued and interested in writing it.  
> In this story you will find crossdressing, mental weakness, obsession and dirt, conditions of a person who lives in an unhealthy way and who performs degrading acts in solitude. Fragile, Amelie and Sam are only named in Higgs' thoughts and wishes and don't really interact with him.  
> The emphatic exaggeration in the description of certain situations or physical peculiarities is at the service of the story itself which, like everything I write on this site, is pure pornographic<3

The Demens thought he found in the mirror a magnificent, powerful creature, to fall madly in love with like Narcissus with his reflection in the pond. Instead that distorted and opaque image is simply monstrous and grotesque, ridiculous in its clumsy attempt to imitate the Extinctive Entity.

But it is necessary to go back about half an hour, when he has taken refuge in his bunker to remain a little alone, away from the loud bouts of his Demens, from their hands, from their magnificent cocks always ready for him.

Upon arrival he found the delivery box already stocked: two pizzas and a bottle of Champagne from his lovely Sam and a smaller and lighter briefcase delivered by another courier.  
Excited and happy, Higgs took off most of his clothes scattering them around regardless of the disorder that reigns supreme in his small home, sitting on the cot to eat and check the goods while accompanying the pizza with a fizzy and tremendously sweetened drink. He is not convinced that he likes Champagne, he ordered it only to give Englert a certain importance and to drive Sam crazy with the transport, that's all. He likes sweet drinks, like kids.

The pizza is heavenly as always and the first one makes it disappear in about ten minutes, enjoying every bite and every strand of cheese that goes down his throat. Only when he's done he wipe his hands on his pants and open the second briefcase. Inside there is a simple transparent plastc bag with inside a dress of red fabric that immediately lights up the thought of Amelie in his mind damaged by the chiralium. He feels excited and yes, also deeply embarrassed at the idea of having ordered a woman's dress, also justifying with the courier with a ridiculous story about his wife and the gift for her birthday.

Englert also has a wife, according to his stupid story, and together they should be busy sharing pizzas and drinking Champagne. He smiles, delighted, red in the face with shame when he lifts his dress to look at it well. He asked for a red women's dress but forgot to specify the size, what fabric, what quality. Not that their desolate post Death Stranding world could provide who knows what wonders but perhaps he could have been more precise. Not bad, the red is very similar to that of Amelie's dress, there will be practically no difference. He decides to eat the other pizza, more slowly, thinking about how he was wondering about Sam just a few days before.

Sam.

His fixed thinking, the reason for so many headaches. Initially he thought he wanted to become him. He and Sam look very similar, he too was a good, courageous, ambitious courier and perhaps now it would be Sam's turn to look like him, to welcome his true nature and the undeniable attraction he feels towards him. He licks his fingers to remove the oil from his fingertips while with one hand touches his cock through his pants without even realizing it.  
"Sam ..." Higgs softly murmurs, lying down on the cot and pulling on that ridiculous little dress, sliding his fingers up and down the zipper of his pants, feeling the cock begin to stretch slightly. "... suck my cock ... lick me ... lick me all. I want to feel you inside my broken ass ... I want you to fuck me ... that you were getting me ...". His hoarse voice resonates stupid and empty in the messy bunker in which he lives and makes him furiously blush as pathetic sounds to his own ears. But it doesn't matter. He is alone, nobody has to see him, nobody has to know. Fragile, perhaps, she would understand. She had understood him from the first moment when, in the shadows of the warehouse near the port, she had humiliated him on his knees, thrusting in his mouth her small gloved fingers of plastic and black leather which he had sucked and licked like the filthiest of the sluts.

She understood him.

He misses Fragile. Often he would like to come back to her, beg her forgiveness and come back to beg her to piss on his face, to fuck him in the ass until he screams, to force him to go out for deliveries with a huge vibrator turned on in his infested guts and to keep it warm until evening . Until she decides to stick an arm into his intestine and pull it out. Maybe. He smiles, thinking about it, pressing his clothes against his mouth to smell it: cheap nylon, the smell of printing without value. A whore dress for Englert's wife, perhaps the courier thought that those two should engage in who knows what ridiculous erotic game.

With a sigh he goes back to sitting down, fishing from the bag for the second item he requested: a pair of women's panties, absurdly small, in pink lace and not matched with the dress, blazing with the desire to wear them immediately, feel them on, watch his cock stretch and deform them, feel the fabric pass uncomfortably between his balls so as to force him to move them to one side in order to keep them on.

So he did, enthusiastic and deluded.

Higgs completely undressed keeping only Amelie's Quipu on his chest, then he slipped the dress on immediately feeling it stick to him in all the wrong places: floppy on the hips, tight on the chest, too short on the thighs (it practically covers him barely the dick) and with thin straps that cannot keep the fabric raised even to the nipples.

Puzzled, the Demens slipped on the panties, already struggling to pass them through the upper part of his thighs and feeling them damned tight, uncomfortable, simply unsuitable for his male body. He looked down, keeping the dress raised and chose to keep his cock straight against his belly, ridiculously out of the panties while, as already expected, he had to move his balls to the right in order not to risk a slow and rather annoying castration. He let the fabric of the dress slide into place, caressed himself along the belly and inhaled the stale air of his bunker, kneeling to pull a cardboard box from under the cot where he holds, disgustingly dirty and crowded, dildos and vibrators of all sizes. He dips his hands in it, takes two, takes them to his mouth to suck vulgarly while in his head the images of Sam, himself, Amelie, Fragile overlap.

Is an identity thief, Higgs. He doesn't just want to be like the people he loves and admires. He literally wants to become them. He wants to play all their roles, all together in an orgy that exists only in his head: he wants to be Amelie who, kneeling on the Beach, starts the Last Stranding sucking his cock and Sam's, while the two kiss gently eachother warmed by the flames of the world that explodes. He wants to be Fragile forced to suffer, finally, his revenge. He wants to be himself, with someone's cock in his mouth, anyone. Someone who forced him to humble himself by dressing him as a woman in a grotesque way.

As if taken from an afterthought, the Demens raises his head with the saliva that drips from his lower lip to the tip of the two vibrators. He lets them fall and takes another, a monstrous piece of badly shaped rubber as long as a man's arm. Above, clumsily, he wrote "BRIDGES" in large blue letters that have now peeled away from the use he has made of it. With that ridiculous thing in hand, he crawls towards the bottom of the cot to finally look at himself in the reflective sheet he has taken from the old refuge nearby.

And here we come to the great disappointment.

He is monstrous.

He sucks.

He looks puzzled and disgusted with that red rag on him, with his cock pressing where there should be nothing or almost, his nipples erect and exposed because the dress is on him in a strange and all wrong way. And the dildo in his hand to make it look even more stupid than it is.

Higgs obtusely tilts his head not knowing how to feel: disappointed or angry? A little excited, maybe? He does not know. Lift the dress to watch the cock, congested and swollen tight in the elastic and in the lace and at the same time start sucking the messy dildo pushing it obscenely in the mouth, always with that passive expression of who is doing it not for personal pleasure but to escape to something. To a sensation, perhaps. Or a malaise.

"Sam, look at me ... am I not beautiful? Don't you want to fuck me? Don't you want ... my cunt?" he asks the mirror on which he pasted Sam's photos as everywhere in his bunker. He caresses himself between the legs, pushing the cock between the thighs with some difficulty, tightening and hiding it to have the illusion of having a pussy. The image upsets and galvanizes him together, so he licks two fingers to start rubbing them on the lace of his panties, right where the clitoris should be, moaning and whining in a stupid and exaggerated way.

"Yes, my cunt, my cunt is on fire, Sam, it's on fire for your cock. Lick it, lick it!" phrases so disconnected that would not even be heard in a bad porn movie and Higgs smiles, blushing, murmuring them in the silence of his bunker, things that he would hardly dare to repeat. But this game is involving him and, after setting aside the huge rubber dildo, he turns to look from behind: the long tight thighs between which he holds his swollen balls and the dripping cock that has already poured the pre on his skin. And then his lovely ass crossed by the pink lace that divides that horribly large hole in which everything has passed practically.

The Demens loves and hate himself other madly, carefully observes moving the hips and irritating the swollen anus with the cheap and itchy lace, biting the lower lip between the teeth. "Sam ..." he murmurs softly, reaching out to grab his dirty underpants, impregnated with his pungent male smell and stick them in his mouth, leaning forward to continue to tease pulling the fabric of the panties against the dripping anus. Once, twice, three times. He gasps in the smell of the cum of his underpants, disgusting and pathetic, sticking two fingers inside his ass at the end and then bringing them to his face, sniffing them, sucking them.

He remains there for a few moments with his ass open in front of the mirror, disgusted by the lack of the right stimulus, grabbing the rubber dildo and throwing it capriciously to the side, irritated by his own presence. He hear it roll against the box which, spilling, spreads all the other sex toys around the room. Perfect, now he will have to collect them.

The mere idea pisses him off that he begins to scream hysterically, a real childhood crisis of anger, punches the ground, kicks and whins like a brat because his games have not gone as he wished.

Higgs' feline face is streaked with long black tears as he angrily drags the folded blanket off the cot for no particular reason, dodging the empty cartons of the pizzas and ending up grabbing the bottle of Champagne. Even that annoys him, makes him hiss angrily like a neurotic little girl.

Without a real reason he uncorks the bottle and takes a long sip of the drink which, as expected, he doesn't like. Higgs swallows forcefully feeling his throat fill with foam, coughs, spits, feels his stomach turn over. So, with a grimace on his lips and perhaps thinking of making a big spite at someone, he shakes the bottle a little while keeping his finger pressed on the opening, then he puts it in his anus, practically sitting angrly on it. The sensation is immediate and devastating: the splash of Champagne floods his intestine with cold and seething liquid while his weight and his worn-out sphincter make the bottle slide inside almost completely.

"Oh, fuck ... yes ... finally!" the Demens blurts out, laughing. The underpants in his mouth fall to the ground, soaked with saliva. Lift his ass to be able to look in the mirror and with horror and pure enjoyment, watch the wide bottom of the bottle disappear inside his flabby hole. He feels fucking full, his belly swollen with gas and alcohol. Moving on all fours, slowly, feeling the liquid noise of Champagne inside the bowels and the bottle that tries to run out of him, he trudges to pick up two vibrators rolled on the ground and turn on his back to look better in the mirror. He sticks them in his mouth together, sucking and drooling on them like an idiot, he jerks the Quipu from his neck and clamps it on his cock, starting a quick and tight masturbation, moaning and groaning relentlessly without shame.

When Higgs reaches the limit, he cums against the mirror a stream of disgusting black and oily sperm and, losing control, the bottle comes out of his ass together with a jet of yellowish liquid at high pressure, similar to an extreme lady juice's squirting. He puts his fingers on the overflowing anus feeling the rectum come out between them, squeezes it still panting and daubing the mirror, Sam's photographs, his books piled up disorderly everywhere.

He finally collapses, exhausted and satisfied, wiping his mouth after dropping the vibrators on the ground.

His belly hurts, he feels dizzy and rather confused, blissfully ignorant of the fact that the intestinal mucous membranes have absorbed a fair amount of alcohol during his extreme anal play.

With difficulty the Demens drags himself up to the cot, the filthy panties rolled around his knees, the little dress raised up to his waist and the rectum that dangles ridiculously from his ass, occasionally spraying still occasional jets of lukewarm liquid. He throws himself on the cot and starts massaging it gently, pulling it out completely, holding it in his hand and desperately enjoying the idea that his poor bowels should not be in his hand, should not be outside his body. He laughs, amused, as if it were really hilarious. How much he would like Sam to hold it in his hand. He would make him hold on tight, he would like to whine to beg him to stop, to feel him slip it out of his ass and be forced the Demens to hold it up with his hands. He deserves it. He's a dirty and bad brainless whore.

"I'm a fucking septic tank, Sam ... yes ... you have to break through ... my soul ..." he mutters, dreamily. He had promised himself to settle down and, above all, to stick that ridiculous prolapse in his ass but sleep fell overwhelmingly on him and he ends up falling asleep in really disgusting conditions, drunk and alone as the most pathetic of the last human beings left on earth .


End file.
